


Forging New Bonds

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family Fluff, Getting Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet the Family, Pre-Thor (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's regular Saturday night not-date with Phil starts with an introduction he could never have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forging New Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aftersoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftersoon/gifts).



> For aftersoon. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Many thanks to A, C, D, and K, who betaed this for flow and grammar, and to my usual cheerleaders for all their help and support. 
> 
> **This fic takes place pre-Thor, and is AU in that it has been Jossed by Agents of SHIELD.**

 

Clint stamped his feet and breathed into his ungloved, cupped hands before shoving them back into his coat pockets. It was only another couple of blocks or so to Coulson's building, but it was _cold_ out.

A grin flitted over his face at the thought of the evening to come. It'd been about six months since he'd started spending occasional evenings off base at Coulson's apartment, and now it was pretty much a weekly thing. They shared takeout and watched movies -- Coulson had been appalled by the gaps in his viewing history and was doing his damnedest to make up for it -- and it wasn't _exactly_ what Clint wanted, but it was so much more than he'd ever thought he'd get.

He'd sit on the other end of the couch and watch Coulson watch movies, expressions flickering with the television's light, and do his best to push down the longing to scoot across the gap between them and curl up against the other man's side, feeling the warmth of his body and the rise and fall of his breathing.

If he couldn't have that, sharing an order of egg rolls and watching Coulson's eyes crinkle as he laughed at something on screen would have to be enough.

A cold walk before going to Coulson's was good. It was almost like a cold shower. Cleared his mind.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to see the display lit up with a text.

_On your way already?_

Clint stopped walking and stared warily down the street toward Coulson's place. _Yeah. What's up? Plans change?_

Coulson's pause seemed longer than a reply would take, and it was really damn cold out, so Clint cut to the right and jogged a couple blocks in that direction before circling back toward Coulson's. His phone buzzed in his hand in his pocket and he pulled it out again.

_No, no change. Come on over._

Clint eyed his phone, uncertain. _You sure?_

_Yes, I'm sure. There's someone I want you to meet._

Clint stopped dead, nearly tripping over his own feet.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, a sigh gusting free.

He suddenly had the urge to turn around and head straight back to his quarters, bury his head under his pillow, and never come out. Pretty much the very last thing he wanted to do was go to Coulson's and meet his probably-perfect-in-every-way boyfriend. Or girlfriend.

Playing third wheel was bad enough. Playing third wheel while the object of his completely inappropriate crush smiled at someone else with his eyes all soft and crinkly would be _excruciating_.

He sent his next text, his fingers numb from more than just the cold. _If you're busy, sir, we can hang out another night._

Another long pause. _If that's what you want. I'd really like you to come tonight, though._

Clint groaned. How the hell was he supposed to say no now? He'd meet whoever Coulson wanted him to meet, stay for as little as he could get away with, and then go find Natasha and seriously deplete whatever alcohol stash she had on hand. That sounded like the best plan.

_Be there in a few._

_Great._

He walked as slowly as he could toward Coulson's building, but in the end, the weather won out and he covered the last block at a brisk pace.

There was a cab in front of Coulson's building, and Clint stopped short. Coulson stood in the doorway, his arm around a young girl as they both waved at a woman getting into the cab. She waved back, calling goodbyes as the cab drove away. Clint approached the building and Coulson and the girl -- she looked around twelve -- turned. Coulson smiled when he saw Clint -- a wider smile than Clint could ever remember seeing, and his breath caught at the sight.

Coulson's hand lifted from the girl's shoulder in a wave, but he didn't remove it completely. Clint moved closer, pulling his hand from his coat pocket in a return wave.

"You got here quickly," Coulson told him.

"Was already on my way," Clint said, trying not to stare at the girl, who was definitely staring at him. He resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders.

"Come on, come into the lobby at least. It's too cold out here for introductions."

The right arm of the girl's coat was hanging loosely and Clint caught a glimpse of a sling and purple plaster against her chest and winced in sympathy. He was definitely no stranger to broken bones. She crowded close to Coulson, who kept his arm around her.

Coulson ushered him into the warmly lit lobby and shut the door behind him.

"Clint Barton, this is my daughter, Lauren Coulson. Lauren, baby, this is Clint, a good friend of mine. He works with me."

Clint stared at her, in shock, hit by too many thoughts at once.

A daughter, holy shit, how had he not known, what kind of spy was he? And a good friend, Coulson considered him a good friend, and he sounded... nervous about introducing Clint to his daughter?

_Maybe because he's afraid you'll be a rude asshole who'll stare at her like she's a freak of nature, Jesus, Barton, what is wrong with you?!_

He smiled and offered her his left hand to shake, which made her blink in surprise. "Hi. It's nice to meet you."

She shook awkwardly, and a little warily. "Hi," she said softly.

Lauren was tall and willowy, the top of her head already above her dad's -- her _dad's_ , Jesus -- shoulder. She had blue eyes, darker than his, and fine dark brown hair, and a long straight nose that might've been what Coulson's had looked like before life had given his its distinctive curve.

Clint nodded at the cast. "I like the color you picked."

Coulson's lips curved in a smile -- he was _softer_ around his daughter (his _daughter_ ) than Clint was used to. His head was spinning.

"Barton -- Clint likes purple too," he told Lauren, who grinned shyly back. "Come on, let's go upstairs. How does pizza sound?"

Lauren shrugged silently but turned toward the elevator. Coulson's hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her, and Clint was getting more used to the idea of him as a dad every second.

He hung back a little, and when Coulson noticed, he half-turned, eyebrow raised in query.

"Lauren, baby -- "

"Dad."

"I'm sorry. Lauren, honey -- can I still call you honey or is that not allowed either?"

She rolled her eyes at him and he laughed and fondly brushed her nose with his in a way that made her glare half-heartedly at him and made something in Clint start to ache.

"Lauren, honey, will you head back upstairs? Clint and I will be up in a minute."

"'kay." She gave Clint a half-smile that looked more like her father's than the wider smile he'd seen earlier and headed into the elevator.

"I should go," he told Coulson as soon as the doors closed.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just sprung this on you -- "

"No, it's fine, but you should -- "

"I've been meaning to tell you, but there's really no way to start the conversation and -- "

"I mean you probably don't get a lot of time to spend with her -- "

They were talking over each other and both stopped at the same time, falling into awkward silence.

"Look, Barton -- Clint -- you don't have to stay if you'd rather go. But I meant what I texted earlier. I've been hoping to introduce you. This was a little sudden; her mother had to go out of town unexpectedly and felt that she'd be more comfortable staying with me than her neighbor. I know you must have dozens of questions, and I'll try to answer them, later, I promise."

"I know your schedule, Coulson -- "

"We're not at work, Clint. Please, call me Phil."

Clint reasoned that he probably didn't want Lauren to deal with the weirdness of Clint calling her dad by his last name -- he'd really have to remember to try not to call him sir.

The pressure of Coulson's hand on his arm was very faint through Clint's winter coat. Clint stared down at it for a moment anyway, nonplussed, before glancing back up at Coulson.

"You're thinking too hard. It's not just because Lauren is here," Coulson told him. "I've been… meaning to tell you for a while now that we don't have to stand on ceremony outside of work. I -- I'd like to think that we're friends."

Coulson's eyes were so blue, and he was standing close enough for Clint to feel the warmth of his body and catch the spice of his aftershave. Clint ignored the petulant voice within him that insisted, _but I want more!_ and smiled.

"Of course we are. Phil."

Coulson's smile was small, but gorgeous, and that voice was getting damn hard to ignore. Clint waited for the reminder that this first name basis was only an off-duty thing, but it never came, and pride bloomed in Clint's chest. It mean that Coulson -- that Phil -- considered him enough of a professional to know that.

"We'd better get upstairs and order that pizza before Lauren eats everything in the kitchen."

"Are you sure I'm not -- "

"You're not intruding, Clint."

"What does she think?"

Coulson's laugh was tired as he stepped into the elevator. "She's eleven going on twenty five. I have no idea what she thinks of anything anymore."

When they got upstairs, Lauren was curled up in the armchair, her stuff spread around her as she texted quickly with her left hand.

Coulson watched her fondly. "Better your right arm than your left, I guess. You might actually have to put your phone down occasionally, otherwise."

She rolled her eyes at him without looking up from her phone, and Clint grinned and then realized that having a left-handed daughter explained why he'd so easily adapted to Clint's needs and perspective when other handlers had had trouble with it.

"Make yourself comfortable," Coulson -- Phil -- told Clint as he walked toward the kitchen. "Beer?"

"Yeah, thanks," Clint said as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes before settling onto the couch. The TV was paused on some sort of military documentary, probably had been since Lauren and her mom had arrived.

"Would you like something to drink, Lauren?" Phil called, and she nodded, still focused on her phone.

Phil exuded polite patience that Clint could feel from the living room. Evidently Lauren felt it too, because she looked up after a moment.

"Yes, please, Dad," she said, her voice full of exasperation.

"Certainly. Shoes off the furniture, please."

She unfolded herself -- a little awkwardly, Clint thought. Her growth spurt had probably been pretty recent, and she was still acclimating herself to longer limbs. The broken arm likely didn't help.

She bent to untie her shoes, actions somewhat hampered by the cast and the sling. Phil came back into the living room, handing Clint a bottle and setting a glass on a coaster next to Lauren.

"Need some help?" he asked quietly, and she shook her head.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?" he asked, and her back went stiff.

"Yes," she said shortly, wrestling with the laces, and the defiant jut of her chin was definitely a family trait.

Phil glanced at Clint as reached for his phone, and Clint grinned at him. "Definitely your daughter," he mouthed, and Phil's eyes twitched in that way that would've been an eyeroll from anyone else.

Lauren finally battled her laces into submission, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet under her again.

"Supreme okay?" Phil asked as he punched in the number for his customary pizza place.

"No onions," Clint and Lauren said simultaneously, and then grinned at each other.

"Yes, I'm aware," Phil said dryly and stepped back into the kitchen to order.

"Onions are gross," Lauren said, wrinkling her nose adorably. Clint grinned and offered her his fist to bump, which she did with a shy smile.

"How'd you bust your wing?" he asked, and her brow crinkled in confusion. Clint knew he had to stop thinking of everything she did as adorable, but she was Coulson's, she'd come from him, and he could see Phil in everything she did. Then her eyes cleared as she got it, and she smiled.

"Soccer." Her smile faded. "Missed the last game of the season."

Clint grimaced sympathetically. "Sucks."

Her lip twitched in Phil's half-grin, there and gone. "Yeah. But it means I get to stay with my dad instead of Mrs. Perry across the hall, so…" 

"I thought you liked Mrs. Perry," Phil said as he came back in. "Not that I'm not happy that you're here, you know I always want you here."

Lauren shrugged. "She thinks I still play with Barbies, and she expects me to go to bed at, like, eight."

She leaned in toward Clint, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And her apartment smells like onions."

Clint nodded seriously. "And onions are gross."

"Exactly."

"How'd your history project go?" Phil asked her as he settled onto his half of the couch, and she brightened.

"Got an A."

"Great job, baby."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but pink bloomed along the top of her cheeks. 

"Can we watch _The Hunger Games_ later, Dad? I was supposed to go see _Catching Fire_ this weekend with Hannah and Paige and Lucas." Her expression fell somewhere between a scowl and a pout. "Guess that's not gonna happen."

"If you want," Phil said, and Clint took a sip of his beer to cover his smile. It was the same tone Phil used with the very trying junior agents, a hint of longsuffering in it. He wondered how many times Coulson had watched the movie with her.

"Did I tell you that it's so popular -- and _Brave_ and everything else -- that they're doing archery in PE this spring?"

Clint glanced at her and he could feel Phil's quiet amusement beside him.

"Really," Phil said noncommittally.

"Mm hmm. It looks kinda fun. Bet Bryan Garretson shoots himself in the foot with an arrow. He is _such_ a klutz."

Clint laughed.

"Clint's an archer," Phil said mildly.

Her eyes widened as she eyed him speculatively. "Really?"

He nodded. "Was in the circus for a while," he said carelessly, omitting any mention of _when_ he'd been there.

"You're lying."

"Lauren!"

Clint laughed. "It's okay, boss -- Phil, it is kinda hard to buy. Nope, not lying. There's probably pictures somewhere on the net, I haven't looked. I wore this horrible purple costume and stood on a galloping horse shooting at tiny moving targets."

Her eyes narrowed and she shot him a skeptical look that was pure Coulson.

"We'll have to find a range, and I'll show you -- if that's okay with your dad. Maybe when you get out of that cast."

"Daddy?"

Clint realized with a grin that Phil was _Dad_ unless Lauren wanted something, when he suddenly became _Daddy_.

"Sure, squirt. Let your arm heal up first."

She grinned happily at Phil, who smiled back, looking back and forth between her and Clint.

The television, which had apparently been paused too long, blared back to life. Lauren jumped, and even the men twitched in surprise. Phil grabbed the remote and muted it, and then rose.

"I'm going to go wash my hands, excuse me for a moment."

Clint nodded. Lauren's attention was already back on her phone.

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, Lauren raised her head and fixed her gaze on Clint. Her blue eyes were narrow and piercing under the dark fringe of her bangs, and for all that they were a shade darker than her father's, it felt remarkably familiar.

"You work with my dad and Uncle Nick," she said, and it wasn't a question.

Clint felt a jolt of amusement at the last part, but he nodded warily. That much Coulson had told her, but he wasn't about to discuss their work while Coulson was out of the room.

"Dad likes to pretend he has a boring job like Mom's, in an office somewhere, but I saw his badge once. I googled SHIELD, and what a field agent does, and I've seen his gun."

Clint said nothing but resolved to tell Coulson at the earliest opportunity that his daughter knew more about his job than Coulson might think -- though this was _Coulson_ , and he probably already knew.

"You don't have to say anything, I know you're probably not supposed to talk about it and I don't want you to get in trouble. I just..."

She bit the corner of her lip, her brows drawing together just like her dad's did when he was thinking seriously about something. "Just keep him safe, okay?" She glanced up at the framed Captain America poster hanging by the television and rolled her eyes. "He's kind of a big dork, but he's my dad."

Clint didn't know what to tell her. He certainly couldn't tell her the truth, that he'd protect her father at the cost of his own life. The bathroom door opened before he could figure out something, and they both glanced at Phil as he came back in and settled back onto the couch.

"Lauren, why don't you put your stuff away so that when dinner comes you can relax?"

"'kay." She gave Clint one last serious look before getting up and shoving her phone in her pocket.

"Do you need help with that?" Coulson asked, half-rising from the couch as Lauren struggled to pick up her coat, her backpack, her shoes, and grab the handle of her rolling suitcase.

"I got it," she said with a grunt of effort, and Clint had to stifle a grin -- her determined face and stubborn tone looked and sounded remarkably like Coulson's. She gave a small gasp as her arm twisted a little, and Coulson shot to his feet.

"You're going to hurt yourself -- "

"I said I got it, I'm not a baby," she snapped, and then her shoulders slumped. "Sorry," she muttered and then dragged the whole mess toward the guest bedroom -- her bedroom, Clint supposed it was. The door had always been closed when he was here, and he'd never actually seen it. Now he knew why.

Coulson sank back down onto the couch and rubbed a hand over his face. "Sometimes she's still my baby girl who loves to cuddle and sometimes I think I'm the last person in the world she wants to see."

Clint wanted to offer some sort of comfort, but he had no idea what to do or say, and no idea how Phil would take it if he even tried.

The other man sighed. "Well, I'm given to understand that that's normal for girls her age, so I try not to be too upset by it."

There was a small crash from the guest bedroom and they both looked in that direction.

"I should go help her," Coulson said, standing again. "We'll just be a few minutes. Pizza should be here soon."

"No problem, sir -- Phil," he amended quickly, and Coulson -- Phil -- gave him a quick smile before disappearing down the hall.

Clint half-expected to hear that sharp tone again, but there was only the murmur of soft voices and the quiet sounds of a room being organized. He grinned -- Coulson would have all of her stuff put away without her even realizing he'd helped at all.

 _Sneaky ninja badass_ , he thought fondly, and he decided to hit the head and wash his hands before the pizza got there.

He was done and on his way back to the living room when Lauren's soft voice froze him in his tracks.

"Is Clint your boyfriend?"

Clint didn't know what he expected -- Coulson to instantly deny it with a scornful laugh, maybe -- but it wasn't the tiny pause, one just long enough for someone trained in interrogation and resistance to notice, or the strange tone in Coulson's voice.

"No, Lauren. He's just a friend."

It was a _really_ weird tone, and Clint couldn't identify it at all. He swallowed harshly, knowing he shouldn't be listening but unable to move his feet.

"But you want him to be," Lauren said, and this wasn't a question either.

The intercom buzzed, and Clint bit back an oath at the interruption. He would've sworn that Coulson's laugh sounded a little shaky.

"Saved by the bell, huh? Wash your hands, baby."

"Dad."

"You'll always be my baby girl," Coulson said, and his voice was so _warm_ , Clint wanted to wrap himself up in it.

"Daaaaaaad," she said again, but there was fond exasperation and a giggle in it, and the soft sounds of what Clint bet was Coulson pulling her into a hug.

Clint closed his eyes, _wanting_ with everything in him. He'd never pictured Coulson as a dad -- why would he have? -- but now that he'd seen it, he wanted to see it all the time. Every day. As often as Coulson would let him.

The intercom buzzed again, jolting him, and he moved toward it, leaving them to their moment.

He was just taking the pizza out of the delivery boy's hands when Coulson stepped up beside him, cash in hand. Clint glanced at him, and the smile Coulson gave him was small, a little nervous. Clint returned it, wondering desperately what Phil would've said if the intercom hadn't buzzed.

Before tonight, he would've said that Lauren was wrong, that Coulson would've gently told her so, that she was mistaken, would have repeated that Clint was just a friend -- a coworker who'd shoved his way into Coulson's life and ate curry on his couch while they mocked movies together.

But now he wasn't sure. Nobody knew Coulson had a daughter -- if they had, if it had been common knowledge, or even the kind of open secret everyone in SHIELD loved, Clint would have known. Coulson was extremely private, parceling out bits and pieces of information about himself like precious treasure. Clint still felt incredibly proud of himself every time he discovered something like the fact that Coulson preferred pretzels over potato chips, and he liked big band in the car but classic rock on the treadmill.

For him to trust Clint with this information, with knowledge that could potentially put his daughter -- his _baby girl_ \-- in danger... Clint didn't think it was a stretch to say that Coulson -- that _Phil_ \-- thought of him as more than just a coworker, or even a casual friend.

"Everything okay, Bar -- Clint?" Phil asked quietly, and Clint blinked, realizing he was still standing there with the boxes of pizza in his hands. He moved into the kitchen and placed them on the counter, aiming a smile at the other man.

"Fine, si -- uh, Phil," he stuttered, and they shared a sheepish grin. Some habits weren't going to die easily.

"Daddy!" Lauren came flying out of her room, ungainly and coltish. "Daddy, I told Uncle Nick that your friend was here and he says he'll take me to see _Catching Fire_ if you say it's okay. Can I go? Please?"

Clint hurriedly set down his plate. "Oh, God, I'll go -- you, you should spend some time with your daughter, si -- Phil, we can… next weekend is fine, really, or whenever."

Lauren whipped her head in his direction, frantically shaking her head. "No, no! It's okay, really, stay! I'll go with Uncle Nick! Please, Daddy!"

Reassured, that she didn't resent him for his presence -- though Phil might, he realized, if his being here chased off Phil's daughter -- Clint grinned gleefully at the thought of badass Director Fury sharing popcorn and Milk Duds with Lauren, surrounded by gossipy, chattery teenage girls mooning over that Hemsworth kid.

"Dinner just got here, Lauren."

"I'll eat before I go, come on, please? This way I won't be lost when everyone's talking about it later. I'll get spoiled, and you know how much spoilers suck! Please?"

Clint had seen Phil resist every form of bribe and torture thrown at him, but faced with Lauren's big blue eyes, he folded like a cheap lawn chair. Clint could practically see the legendary and unshakeable Agent Coulson resolve crumble into tiny pieces before his eyes.

He handed her an empty plate. "Fine, but I'd like you to come back after the movie, okay? You can spend a night with Uncle Nick later in the week, but I want us to spend tomorrow together."

She beamed at him, setting down her plate to throw her good arm around him. "Thank you, Daddy!"

Phil wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek in her dark hair, and his happy smile was so gorgeous Clint had to look away, a strange mix of desire and envy heavy in his gut.

They settled at the table with their pizza. Phil asked Lauren questions about her friends and her classes, and she rattled names and details off machine-gun-fast in between inhaling pizza and soda. Phil nodded and followed along perfectly while Clint tried to keep up, getting lost in the endless patter of names and melodrama. Clint knew Phil could memorize mission details after a single quick glance, and he honestly wasn't sure if that helped him navigate his daughter's complex social life, or if it was the other way around.

They had finished eating and were just sitting at the table talking when the intercom buzzed again. Lauren jumped up to answer it and then dashed into her room to put her shoes on and grab her things while Fury made his way upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Clint said quietly. "I should've left earlier -- I know your work schedule, sir -- Phil. You can't spend nearly as much time as you want with her, and now she'll be gone for most of the night."

Phil shook his head, lips twitching into a smile. He touched the back of Clint's hand reassuringly. "It's okay, honestly, Clint. Nick doesn't get to spend much time with her, and since she's staying with me for a week and a half, we'll have plenty of time together."

His expression turned sly. "Besides, if Nick takes her to see that damn movie, I don't have to."

Clint laughed, rising with Phil when there was a knock on the front door.

Lauren came hurrying back out, coat and and a single glove in her hand, a bright purple knit hat jammed over her dark hair.

She was reaching for the doorknob when Phil said sharply, "Peephole!"

Rolling her eyes, she complied and then flung open the door. "Uncle Nick!"

She threw her arms around him, and the laugh that came from Nick Fury when he hugged her back was one Clint had never heard from the man before, and one he'd never expected to. It was a deep, happy belly laugh, and Clint found himself grinning without intending to.

"Who is this? This can't be my peanut. You're way too tall."

"Oh my God, Uncle Nick, stop."

He laughed and hugged her again. "Ready, kiddo?"

"Yeah, come on, I don't want to miss anything!"

He glanced over at where Clint and Phil were standing, his gaze flitting between them. He was wearing a soft white sweater and dark jeans along with the regular leather coat, and the clothes and his happy grin made him look like a completely different entity than hardass take-no-prisoners SHIELD Director Fury.

"Clint," he said evenly.

"Nick," Clint replied cheekily, not about to pass up the chance.

Nick's eye narrowed, just a bit, and his smile turned a little calculating.

"Dad says I have to come back after the movie," Lauren told him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so? Then I guess I'll just have to borrow you later in the week for a night or two." He turned back to Phil, and as long as Clint had worked with both of them, there was a quick, silent conversation between them that he could not interpret, one that ended with Phil giving a tiny sigh and Fury laughing slyly at him.

"Good night, Cheese. Enjoy your evening."

"Don't have her back too late," was all Phil said.

"G'night, Nick," Clint added, grinning again when Fury eyeballed him.

"Night."

"Bye, baby. Have fun with Nick, and enjoy your movie."

"Thanks, Daddy."

"Bye, Lauren! It was nice to meet you," Clint added, giving her his left hand to shake again.

"You too," she said, and the way she looked between Clint and her father before she turned to leave had more than a hint of Phil's sharp perception in it.

Nick threw one more cagey look over his shoulder before Phil closed the door behind him.

The silence that descended after the door clicked shut seemed to grow and stretch as they stared awkwardly at each other.

After a moment, Phil gestured to the couch and Clint folded himself down into his usual spot. Phil sat too, reaching for the television remote and turning it to a soft jazz station before lowering the volume.

"Her mother's name is Dawn Andrews. She's an economist with the UN. I met her when we were both celebrating promotions by vacationing in Belize, about fourteen, fifteen years ago, something like that."

Clint grinned. "Wouldn't have guessed you were the vacation fling type, sir -- Phil."

Phil's answering grin was faintly embarrassed. "I wasn't -- I'm not. Still not, but Dawn is tall and beautiful and passionate and driven and smart -- so damn smart, Clint, she thinks circles around me. Always has."

Clint thought Coulson's description sounded an awful lot like Coulson himself, and could see -- even if it hurt to see it -- how Coulson would be attracted to a woman like that. The fondness in Phil's voice pointed to an amicable relationship between Phil and Lauren's mother, and Clint was glad, for Lauren's sake, and Phil's.

Phil grinned wryly. "She's witty as hell. Never have been able to resist a smartass."

His gaze found Clint's and flitted away again, and Clint couldn't help but stare at the side of his head, his hopes rising. He struggled to keep them under control -- to do otherwise was only asking for heartbreak.

"We hit it off very quickly. And when we found out we were both based in New York, we decided to try to make it work."

He glanced at Clint and shrugged a little. "You know how SHIELD is, and her work with the UN isn't much better. We were together for nearly two years, and spent a grand total of probably three months in the same time zone. We're both very career driven, and... too much alike, really.

"It was a mutual decision to end things, and we parted as friends. And then she discovered she was pregnant. We gave things another shot, but it was a lost cause and we both knew it. And I've never believed in staying together for the child's sake; it only leaves everyone miserable."

Clint thought he looked a little wistful, and wondered what it was he regretted.

"So Lauren was born, and Dawn has primary custody, but she stays with me as often as she can -- which is never as often as I'd like, unfortunately."

Clint turned things over in his head, unable to believe he'd missed something as huge as this -- he was Hawkeye, for God's sake.

"What we do is dangerous," Coulson said, reading his mind as always. "Families are leverage. I don't... hardly anyone knows. Jasper, Hill. Agent May. Nick, as you've seen."

"Uncle Nick," Clint said with a grin.

Phil smiled. "Her godfather. He loves her like she's his own."

Clint sobered. "Sir -- Phil. I'm aware of the trust you've shown in me by sharing this knowledge with me. You have to know that I understand the… gravity of it. I won't take it for granted. I'd die before I betrayed that trust, before I let harm come to her. You have my word."

Phil reached over and rested a hand on Clint's arm where it lay on his knee. "I know, Clint. I never doubted that."

The absolute sincerity in his voice and his eyes took Clint's breath away. Humbled by it, he ducked his head, breaking eye contact.

"She's a great kid." His eyes widened as he remembered. "I think she may have a little more of an idea of what you do for a living than you want her to, Phil. She's seen your badge, and your service weapon, and she's done at least some internet research on SHIELD."

Closing his eyes, Phil huffed out a laugh. "Of course she has. Got her mother's brains."

"I don't think she got shortchanged from either of her parents in that department," Clint argued.

Phil was shaking his head with fond exasperation. "I've successfully managed to keep things under wraps for years, and five minutes in the same room with both of us and she figured it out."

Clint frowned in confusion. "Phil?"

He glanced up to see Phil gazing at him, a swirl of uncertain emotions in his clear blue eyes.

"Phil?" he repeated softly.

"I know that you heard what Lauren asked me when I was helping her put her things away."

Clint jolted, heart racing, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Um, yeah, maybe," he said, his voice raspy.

"I… I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together lately, Clint, and I want you to know that I haven't… it wasn't because I didn't trust you that I haven't told you about Lauren before now. I know it's a lot to take in, and I wasn't sure…"

Clint had never heard Phil struggle for words the way he was now, and he took time to decipher the fits and starts and pauses before the meaning hit him, and he couldn't help but laugh a little. Phil flinched almost imperceptibly, and Clint covered Phil's hand with his own, relief flooding through him when Phil didn't pull away.

"What," he said softly, "You thought that finding out that you're a great dad as well as an amazing man might be some kind of a dealbreaker?"

Phil's eyes were wide and so, so blue. "Clint?"

"Trusting me to help keep your daughter safe is supposed to, what, turn me off somehow?"

"I… no, of course, I mean… I've invited you into my life, but she's a pretty big secret to have kept from you for so long, and -- "

"You're trying to keep your kid safe, however you can, Phil. I'm not going to blame you for that." He swallowed roughly and shrugged. "I kind of think the world could use more of that, y'know?"

Phil's eyes went soft, and Clint didn't want that, didn't want pity for the crappy hand he'd been dealt.

"So, uh, years, huh?" he blurted out, and Phil looked down, the tips of his ears going adorably red.

"A few," Phil mumbled. "Maybe five. Could be six."

"We're both idiots," Clint said with a laugh, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

Phil was staring at him, eyes wide. "You -- "

"About the same."

Phil made a sound that was half chuckle, half groan, resting his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

It drew Clint's gaze to the long line of Phil's throat, and his mouth watered.

"So," he said, and the low, husky tone of his voice had Phil glancing at him, eyes narrowed, and Clint added, "I, uh, I guess we've kind of already been dating. For about six months."

Phil blinked, and then laughed. "I think you're right."

Clint took a deep breath and shifted on the couch, crowding Phil into the corner of it, close enough to feel the heat of Phil's skin. "Six months means we're long overdue for a kiss, don't you think?" he murmured, his lips just brushing Phil's.

Phil's breath caught, his eyes darkening as they widened. He tilted his head, catching Clint's mouth with his, and Clint groaned, eyes slipping closed. Phil's hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, warm and strong and calloused, and Clint would have been embarrassed by the needy sounds he couldn't seem to help, but Phil couldn't seem to help them either.

He clutched at Phil's shoulders, feeling the firm muscle under the softness of Phil's sweater, gasping as he felt the brush of Phil's tongue against his lips.

The kiss deepened and Clint lost himself in it, in the feel of Phil's hands in his hair and his warm breath against Clint's cheek, the rumble of his chest beneath Clint's as he groaned. He settled more firmly against Phil, moaning as Phil shifted to lie back, pulling Clint halfway atop him.

Phil's hand slid under Clint's sweater, splaying over the muscles of Clint's back as he arched up, pressing their hips firmly together, and Clint tore away from the kiss with a groan.

"Fuck! Phil, we can't -- Lauren -- she -- " he gasped.

"The movie started at 9:15 and has a runtime of about two hours and twenty five minutes," Phil said, sprawled on the couch and panting to get his breath back. "Assume an average of twelve minutes of trailers beforehand and a very liberal travel time of fourteen minutes, and she won't be back before midnight."

Clint stared down at Phil. His eyes were dark and hungry, cheeks flushed, hair tousled where Clint's hands had mussed it. "Fuck, that's hot," he growled, dipping down for another kiss, which Phil gladly allowed him.

Phil kissed along his jawline, nipping at the skin above the collar of his shirt, drawing another moan from Clint.

"We have plenty of time," he murmured, catching Clint's mouth in another quick kiss before he laughed. It sounded a little disbelieving. "All the time in the world now."

Clint drew back to stare at him, overwhelmed by the bloom of affection that burned through him. "Sap," he laughed, even as he brushed his nose against Phil's.

Phil's cheeks went even pinker. "Guess you're learning all my secrets tonight," he said dryly.

The idea that such a thing was possible, that Phil would let him, made Clint breathless. "Can't wait," he whispered against Phil's lips, and it was Phil's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the sap?"

"Just come here," Clint ordered, pulling him closer, and they were both laughing as their lips met once more.

**END**


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